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Bad Man Briefing
IHQ Assembly Room Within the center of this large chamber is a massive rectangular table with an inset Decepticon symbol gracing the center of its surface. At the head of the table is a large throne, while down its length and at its opposite end are chairs large enough to fit most average Decepticons. Decepticon banners adorn the wall behind the throne, while to either side of the room are various images of Cybertron and other planets the Decepticons have fought over. From the ceiling can lower two large screens to assist with presentations while above the entryway to the room is a large plaque that reads, "Peace Through Tyranny". Seated in the giant hall, is a giant himself.. in stature and renown. Whether out of his own diluted rhetoric, or in Galvatron's temporary absense, Cyclonus is seated in the throne at the far end of the hall. The rectangular table spans before him, small datapads set up at five or six seats. And so the Decepticon sits, and waits.. for his 'company' to arrive. The steward of the Empire does not have to wait long. Footsteps ring out from the hallway, becoming a bit more erratic as they approach. Fusillade's gilded helmet appears as she wraps her fingers around the edge of the threshold. She squints her saffron optics, peering at Cyclonus as if to gauge his mood, before finally stepping forward, and draping herself laconicly in the chair to his left. "Hey," she breezes out. Catechism is a bit nervous about having a meeting with Cyclonus, but at least there will be others in the room. She's still damaged from the fight down in the core with the confusing Mirage for Scattershot and the space slugs and Carjack speaking in rhyme an the using the wrong datacard to boot up Cybertron's engines and Rodimus Prime trying to tear off Galvatron's face and... that mission really was kind of a bender, wasn't it? She wearily sits herself down at Cyclonus's right, making some strange shoulder angel parable with Fusillade and greets more formally, "Sir," saluting. Cyclonus remains silent for now, tapping on his chin idly while pointing Fusillade to her seat with a steepled index finger. His head rotates, only slightly, to catch Catechism's salute. Scowl apparent, the Decepticon second in command sits up straight in the throne and rests his hands down on the table's surface. "Enough with the formalities, take your seats so this can begin." Cyclonus rasps out, with very little facial expression whatsoever. The Decepticon attack dog leans back in his seat, tapping on his personal datapad before him.. awaiting their cooperation. Fusillade cogitates over how to be more seated, and adjusts her tush so that her legs are dangling off the armrest. With her head pointed to Cyclonus, she scoops up the data padd, and hmmms to herself as she begins jabbing at buttons and investigating some of the more interesting menus available to her. "You look rough, Catechism, sorry I missed the fun. Are the engines up and running properly now?" Catechism's expression twitches. She can't say they're not working properly in front of Cyclonus, but... they dented the Seal and broke the datacard and then put the wrong datacard in. So Catechism sits down even more and demurs, "I'm not a rocket scientist, Fusillade. I wouldn't know." There we go. Pass the buck. Giving Fusillade a look of utter contempt, Cyclonus sneers "Did I not make myself clear, Fusillade?" With the tap of a button on the datapad, the lights go dim in the large hall.. and from the ceiling descends a large screen, blank at the moment. "You're both currently aware of our.. predicament. I'll spare the endless rhetoric of what we all know, and get to what -you- don't." The screen lights up with an orbital shot of a planet, but not just any planet.. Femax! And if they couldn't tell by the image, it's labeled as such at the lower left of the screen. Whatever else they may be good at, Decepticons are not, apparently, good at 'taking their seats.' "Isn't that the planet where they sentence you to 'death by snu-snu' if they catch you on it? That place is a death trap. It's full of heavy-planet organics with giant teeth and carbon-nanotube bones. What do we want there?" The origin of this voice is not clear but it sounds like Boomslang. Catechism wonders if Cyclonus summoned all the Decepti-women here in order to perform hostile negotiations on Femax. That would be the kind of crazy that is so typical of their High Command. She tilts her head to one side, sighs, and bites, "All right, sir. Tell me what I don't know about Femax. And then tell me what you want to do about it." She glares off in the direction of nothing in particular. Boomslang senses glaring and moves quietly to a different spot in the room. Fusillade scrunches her own face up into a confused pout at Cyclonus's comment, but settles back down once she catches Catechism's discomfort at the discussion of space engines. She clears her throat, and clasps her hands attentively, silent for now. And then, that voice pipes up. Straightening in her seat, she spins around in the seat, and peers at the spot where Catechism was glaring. (the fire-and-displace doctrine works for tense conversation as well as combat) Catechism asides to Fusillade rather loudly, "If only Boomslang had been there at that mission. Then we'd have our OWN invisble afterburner to go trip over the Autobots' invisible skidmark. But it's not like Boomslang's ever around." "Yes, it is.. Boomslang. If you intend to take part in the discussion, sit. Otherwise, leave." Cyclonus spits out to the Dinobot Specialist amongst their ranks, not even bothering to look up from his pad. "You.. all of you, allowed one of their organics to sully our good name. Lord Galvatron asks us for a diversion, and he shall have one." The screen flickers to different angles of the planet in question, after displaying full rotation specs.. it moves through the atmosphere to display aerial photography of geological locale and some small tid-bits of information on Femax's inhabitants. "You two.. three, are but a small part of this operation. But before we can proceed, I want it to rain molten lead for a meta-cycle!" Combat: Suddenly, Boomslang appears out of thin air! Boomslang materializes, sitting in one of the chairs and frowning. "I was busy! I've been interdicting." He listens to Cyclonus for a little bit. "Do you mean figuratively, like a Rods-From-God operation, or literally, like getting the rainmaker squadron on it?" Catechism smirks and leans back in her chair as Boomslang appears. She could protest that /she/ didn't lose to any Femaxians - she didn't! And Galvatron /wanted/ them to keep the truce. It's not like she could go put a hit on Barkida. But arguing with Cyclonus is just not worth it. So instead she just points over at Fusi "Orbital Bombardment" llade. Fusillade drums fingertips on her cheek, and mm-hmms to Catechism. As Cyclonus speaks, she spins in her seat, "All this over the Olympics? Well, remind me to find more ways to have aliens impugn our dear Emperor's honor more often! Carpet bombing's good for the lasercore." She fixes Boomslang with a skeptical glance, before biting her lower lip and fluttering her fingertips together in glee at the prospect. "Eee, indiscriminate terror campaign! Kinetic bombardment is SOOOOOOOO messy!" Cyclonus afixes Boomslang with a 'must you?' look, but remains silent. "Do not mistake this for petty payback, Fusillade. However, think of it how you will.. I care not for your thoughts, only that -it- be done." he sternly replies, then clicks another key on the datapad.. bringing up the specs on the Absolution. "Accompanying yourselves, will be auxillary strike forces launched from Absolution. Made up of disposable Sweeps and Seekers, they will act as diversion from the real threat riding inside.." Cyclonus trails, lifting a finger to point at Ms. Unbridled Sass. "You." Boomslang eyes Fusillade enviously for a few moments, then sighs and looks away. Can't blame her. If he had wanted to be able to do the big bombardments he would've asked for a bigger altmode. Still could, really. Puckering hematite lips, Fusillade coos out, "Now now, you KNOW that even with all the mouthing off, it still gets done. And my my my, what contest did -I- win for such a treat? Tell me more about the ordinance!" She leans closer to Cyclonus, even as she begins mentally ticking off an escort package. Catechism looks just a little uncomfortable at the mention of 'disposable' Sweeps and Seekers. Yes, yes, she knows her lot as a mass-produced assembly-line creation. It's not fun to be reminded of it, however. She inquires, "Does Femax even have any aerial resistance? Or should we load up on air to ground ordinance?" "I did some recon there when we visited the first time, they don't even have vehicles, let alone aircraft," Boomslang sneers. "They use carts, wooden carts with big wooden wheels on the sides pulled by toothy monsters of various kinds." "Admittedly the wood is incredibly dense," he adds. "But still, *carts.*" "Been studying up on them I see," Fusillade teases Boomslang. "Enjoyed your visit there, mm?" "I didn't get death-by-snu-snu'd if that's what you're implying," Boomslang sniffs haughtily. "I'm no sweep deviant." Clicking the pad again, the screen flicks between suggested aerial loadouts for numerous craft.. then the biggun. "One Nega-Core Warhead, currently being finalized for Lancer deployment. It shant be easy, Fusillade. Carrying such will make you a sitting duck.. no matter, you shall have no less than three personal units escorting you to the dropzone." "The Femaxians do not pose a threat to our aerial dominance, but I suspect those affable Autobots won't allow us to simply desolate the planet?" he asks, slamming a fist down onto the table. If not made to endure Galvatron's fury itself, it'd probably crack. "NO! Which is -why- we shall be prepared." Cyclonus rants for a moment, quickly regaining composure. Catechism mutters, "Well, air to ground ordinance is pretty good against most Autobots, too." Nega-core, though? Has Catechism ever even heard of a bomb like that? She tries to remember. "Yuh-huh, SUREEEEEE," Fusillade needles Boomslang before Cyclonus's snapping brings her back to attention. "Ahem!" She makes a face at the specs for the weapon, and squirms in her seat coquettishly. "That's... certainly going to be a tight fit, sir." Her optics tint reddish with a passing flush. "So... let's see what this thing does, exactly... and how important it is to get the dropzone right..." She flicks fingers over her datapad copy to view the schematics -- if they aren't classified. Boomslang looks back and forth between Catechism and Fusillade, then decides to ask it himself. "What's a nega-core warhead do?" "You'll find all the appropriate technical implications in the dossier, Unit Carjack has been personally tasked to their.. outfitting." Cyclonus denotes to Fusillade, peering between Catechism and Boomslang. "I'll be assigning squadrons in need of direction, order. Such that I cannot give in the grand scheme of things. Consider yourselves tasked for the job, unless you'd prefer to join the Sweeps." he somewhat manages a grin, especially directed at Catechism. Fusillade says, "Hey Carjack I need to visit with you." "Aye aye, Sir," Boomslang replies, snapping off a salute as he stands. "Will that be all?" Carjack hammers a few times, then stops again with a "Err? For what?" Fusillade says, "Party favor for the upcoming shindig. Just HOW do you plan on getting that thing in me?" Fusillade buries her face in the pad. "Compressed iso... naw. Really?" She recoils from the pad, gives Cyclonus a nervous look, and then squares her shoulders. "It will be done, Cyclonus." Boomslang says, "Graphite grease?" Catechism sits up straighter, her joints making a little 'squeak!' noise at Cyclonus's threat. She assures, "Lead a squad to make sure Fusillade doesn't get blown up while she's trying to blow up Femax? I can do that, sir! I'll do that." Carjack says, "Oh, right that." Pauses a moment, the drawls. "Would you rather it be so loose it rattles around like tossed tube in a hallway?" Fusillade says, "Well, being able to transform while it's crammed in there would be nice, but I guess this isn't a perfect world." "That is all.. for now." Cyclonus nods to Boomslang, standing up from the chair. Clicking a button on the pad, the lights come back throughout the room and the screen rescinds into the ceiling. Boomslang says, "I prefer Cosmoline myself but I suppose I'm old-fashioned that way." Carjack says, "I'm sure the fireworks you'll create will make up for any... discomfort in the end." Carjack is trying hard to not snicker. Mostly succeeding. Boomslang drops the salute and vanishes like a continuity error. Fusillade says, "In -my- end." Combat: Boomslang activates his cloaking field and vanishes from sight! Fusillade nods sharply to Cyclonus, stands, and then starts doing some searches for daisy cutter sliding rail systems, while uttering, "Now which repair bay is Carjack posted to? Hmm..."